


Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

by amb-roses (overtture)



Category: All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Angst, Before Battle, Character Study, Gen, Hallucinations, HangmanPageBirthdayWeek, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Introspection, Minor Ibushi Kota/Kenny Omega, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Betrayal, Prologue, Recovery, References to Depression, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25415413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overtture/pseuds/amb-roses
Summary: the woods are lovely, dark and deep,but i have promises to keep,and miles to go before i sleep, and miles to go before i sleep.Or, select moments of Hangman Adam Page's life, from this world and the ones that eclipse it.[For the Hangman Page Birthday Week event on Tumblr, hosted by @adampage!]
Relationships: Adam Page & Cody Rhodes & Matt Jackson & Marty Scurll & Nick Jackson, Adam Page & Kenny Omega, Adam Page & Matt Jackson & Nick Jackson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. whose woods these are i think i know. his house is in the village though;

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day One: Favorite Being the Elite Bit  
> Shoeless
> 
> Each morning, Hangman wakes up, has his cup of coffee, and struggles with the consequences of actions. If only the hallucinations were a little easier to manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day One: Favorite Being the Elite bit.
> 
> i chose the bit where adam went around the world shoeless for about a month bc honestly its one of my fav recurring bits and if i didnt limit myself, i'd just do like. every other bit of his dmgxfhdhfsd anyway as said in the fic desc, this is for @adampage's birthday week on tumblr!! love u mimi !! thank u for making a birthday week for the hangman circus uwu 
> 
> enjoy!

It makes him nauseous. He can’t stop staring. He can’t look away. 

His phone goes off, a message. It’s been at least another minute by the time he finally manages to drag his eyes away from the boots slumped sideways in a pathetic heap in the bathtub.

**Where are u? U still riding with us?** Reads Matt’s text.

Shit. He was already late, but-

Adam struggles for a moment, hand stuttering midair, mid-reach, freezing. His eyes find the stains again. For a single blink, his breath catches in his throat at the blinding bright crimson, sticky, damp, that coats his hands and wrists. And just like that, it’s gone again.

_ I had to, _ he thinks suddenly.  _ He was going to take them. _

_ They aren’t items to be hoarded like a fuckin’ dragon, _ he amends, self chastising.

_ He was going to take my friends, though, _ he turns his face from the light of the bathroom, letting his golden curls absorb all the light.  _ He was going to make them- _

_ I don’t want to be- _

_ Please don’t- _

_ They would understand _ .  _ I’m not alone. I have them. They’re still with me. _

_ Because they’re obligated. Because Kenny and Marty aren’t around. _

_ Because they love me, they’re my friends. _

_ Because they need me. _

_ Because- _

_ And yet, I stand in a bathroom having a fucking breakdown alone. _

_ Because I don’t reach out. I don’t tell anyone when I struggle. Nobody knows when I need help because of my stupid fuckin’ pride! _

Adam has to intentionally unclench his fists. The bathroom walls echo his quiet panting back at him softly. His knuckles slowly bleed white back into his skin tone as he flexes the strained muscles. Another notification cuts through the air.

**If u dont show were gonna leave u!** Matt says, text harsh on his eyes.

Adam nearly drops his phone. Fuck. Shit.

**omw!!** He sends quickly, snatching his boots up with a small shudder from the tub and quickly grabbing his last bag on the way out the door.

The car collectively blinks at him as he clambers in, shoving his bag in the footwell and throwing himself into the seat. “Sorry! Sorry, I got caught up in my own world this mornin’.”

“Uuh,” Matt hm’s and haws, “didya, uh, forget something there, bud?”

Hangman stares at him blankly.

“Maybe things that, hm, go on your feet?”

Adam thins his lips. “It’s nothing. Don’t mind me, I’m just... going through some stuff right now.”

“Shoe related stuff?” Nick asks, eyebrows raised in the console mirror when their eyes make contact. He quickly glances away, ducking his head.

“Yeah. You could say that.”

“Do you... wanna talk about it?” Matt asks.

“No,” he answers, curt. “Not really.”

“You know-”

“I’m really tired of being asked, okay? I’m sorting it out, it’s fine. Please believe me?” At the pause that follows, “nobody else will leave me alone, but it’s... something I need to figure out myself, and nobody seems to believe me.”

“Ah, alright.”

“Yeah, sure thing dude.”

The silence that descends after that was heavy with sibling conversation and faint, lingering tinges of what was probably judgment, so he resolves to sigh to himself and open a time-waster on his app to wait out the time. Eventually, the brothers fill it between themselves, some bantering, trading playlists on the aux.

**Is there a particular reason you’re going around without shoes? I don’t want us to get banned-** Kenny’s message starts, but just seeing the length of it makes Adam tired. He deletes it before he finishes reading it and drops his phone in his lap with a sigh, what slight distraction he had ruined.

He disappears further into his hoodie, pulling his hat down further, watching the woods bordering the highway as traffic inched forward.

Two brothers glance back at him before sharing a look.

* * *

**Do your feet hurt?**

**Do you get kicked out of a lot of places?**

**Isn’t it annoying?**

**What do you do if you step on something sharp?**

**Why don’t you wear shoes?**

**C’mon, I swear I won’t tell!**

Adam grit his teeth and quickly put his phone to sleep. At least there was self-checkout at most stores now, so he could do his shopping in peace without a curious cashier or any other people coming up to ask. Still, he counts upwards in his head as he weaves between crowds, quickly reining in his rampant temper. 

It was fine. He was fine. 

So, no boots for awhile. If he doesn’t bring it up, his avoidant mood will keep everyone else from bringing it up themselves, right?

He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, memorizing the mesmerizing way stars explode in his eyelids the harder he leans.

“Is that-? Hey! Hangman!” A voice calls, followed by a hand on his back. “You good, dude?”

“Yeah, just fine” he musters up, dropping his hands and nearly his bags when he sees the brothers standing at his side.

Nick’s toes wiggle up at him almost cheekily, redirecting him back up to the man’s eyes, creased with his smile. “So?”

“Uh,” he says. “You, uh...”

“Alright!” Matt cut in, giving his shoulder a gentle, firm shake. “Before you start whining or crying or whatever, just go ahead and sum it up as ‘thank you Young Bucks!’”

“Matt,” Nick sighs, exasperated, turning to him with his wide familiar grin. “Hey, we figured- you’re going through it right now, and if you don’t wanna talk about it or have us help, that’s just fine with us.”

Matt elbows the other Buck in the hip, directing his attention to Adam. “No need to get all weepy about it, though! Listen, we just figured, if Kenny and Marty are gonna be all nosy and grouchy about it, least we can do is go around shoeless for awhile. Anything for our cowboy, right?

Adam forces himself to take a deep breath, biting back his suddenly tight throat and wet eyes with a beaming smile of his own. 


	2. he will not see me stopping here; to watch his woods fill up with snow.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Two: Favorite Promo  
> vs Shane Taylor for Glory For Honor
> 
> The roster won't let Hangman forget why they hate him, each time they stare at him in passing the way they do. How could he possibly forget?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day Two: Favorite Promo 
> 
> this one was fun bc i know a lot of hangman fans are newer, only know his aew stuff, but this was probably the first promo of his i saw? or it's at least one of the more memorable ones for me just bc its this and the one vs kota ibushi that really stand out in his roh/njpw stint, personally! this was actually a lot of fun to write, i've been capping all my birthday week fics at 1k so i had to edit this down a bit, haha 
> 
> enjoy!!

Today’s room is small, cramped even. It had taken a while to find something unmarked and open without being too compromising. Marty trades his fidgeting for the cocky confidence of a preening bird as soon as they turn the last corner. Nick raises an eyebrow at any who catches his eye.

Cody grins at the boys down the hall as he holds the door open until they look away, the rest of them entering. He slaps a Bullet Club sticky sign on the wall, knocks the kickstand down for both of the double doors as he enters. The A.C. doesn’t reach this room very well, but Nick was already setting up the box fans they’d stolen from storage on the way.

No trouble yet, even if the lurkers were a little close for comfort. It must have been a lounge room, or maybe a rec one. There’re two large tables, one for pool, one for ping pong. Matt rubs his hands together with a smirk.

_ You know, when I– uh, when I get to the building for these Ring of Honor shows, me, Cody, Marty, Bucks– we’ll walk around ‘nd find ourselves a room, a corner somewhere and claim it.  _

Adam’s unpacks what he has in the corner of the room he claimed, directly across from the doors– a small quilt to toss over the couch, a coat he throws loosely over his shoulders, some snacks, waters, sodas, a hat he happily sets on his head, his most recent book, nearly finished. 

He watches idly as Nick bickers furiously with Matt, deciding between the tables. Cody sets up next to the double doors, kicking his feet up on the glass coffee table across from the armchair he claims, sighing happily as Adam throws a beer. Marty disappears into a connected side room with an approving ah!

_ I’ll open my bag wide, I’ll spread out, and I’ll make myself a nest for the day– and sitting in my nest, I’ll watch guys walk up and down the hall and turn their noses up at us– turn their noses up at me. And nobody’s nose goes higher than yours, Shane Taylor.  _

People pass the open doors as the day goes on. Most of them know to mind their own business, they stare ahead, keep pace, move on. A few of them slow, turn their head enough to glimpse their paradise.

Hangman usually stares when they meet his eyes. Most of them glance away and continue a little quicker, turn away. A few hold it. Their stares range. Some who know his weak self before the Club, their eyes beg answers. They judge him, ask if he's satisfied. If he's happy. If it's worth it.

He understands. He remembers a time when he didn't get it either. There was a time when he was weaker, blinder than he was now. He's better now. The Bucks, Marty, Cody– they're all better for him. He's finally found a place to belong where he was an actual equal, amongst the greats.

_ And– And I get it, I see your eyes, I see you try to look away, but I can see it in your eyes, I can hear your– inner dialogue, I can hear you think “man, I– If I could own a room like that, if I could carve myself out a spot like that–” I get it, Shane, I get it.  _

Of course, people loved to challenge him now. He hadn't meant anything to them before, but now… now he was important. He meant something now.

_They envy you, Hangman,_ Marty says, his crowing call of a laugh chasing it. _You're the big bad bruiser of the group. You're the measuring stick._

_They want to be you, Hangman,_ Nick says, disdain making his lip curl. _They see what you have now and don't care for anything else. Single-minded. Like strays._

_They want to take your place, Hangman,_ Matt says, face blank and twisted into something unreadable. _Who wouldn't give to be part of our empire?_

_They want to hurt you, hurt us,_ Cody says. _We'll protect you if you need it, but some battles you have to fight on your own. They want to steal what you have, and you need to prove yourself._

_ So on October Twelfth in Baltimore, you’ve made a challenge... against me. You think that if you can beat the Hangman, maybe you can start to carve yourself out a spot like I have.  _

Cody's presence appears around him, cheekbone to his cheek, chin on his shoulder as he wraps himself over Adam’s shoulders like a giant clingy snake. 

They sneer and Cody leaves with them, back to his seat, satisfied.

The next face that meets his eyes is familiar. Old friends, old allies, they mean nothing to him now. He's stronger. He's better.

He's Hangman, now. A promise. An oath. Certainly, though, not a curse. If it takes wading through the rats of the lower levels to get to the light of the surface, the big leagues with bigger titles and brighter lights, he’ll carve a warpath through Ring of Honor and all the faithless bastards without remorse.

It reminds him of the Decade who promised and promised and still bound him down with platitudes and soon, Page, soon, not yet, and you’re not there yet, next time. 

It makes something in him rise, something that makes the Elite giddy, gleeful, a little skittish, enough that he keeps it’s leash short. Rage, malice that licks up the insides of his ribs, sets his very bones aflame in its intensity. Something everyone before them had tried to compress, something they’d tried to capture and contain.

Friendships outside of clans like Bullet Club were weaknesses he can’t afford now. They’ll drop you just as quickly as they take to you.

Ring of Honor taught him that.

_ But in Baltimore, Shane? I’m just gonna walk up to you... ‘m gonna point your nose... right back down, and tell ya... keep walkin’. _


	3. my little horse must think it queer; to stop without a farmhouse near

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Three: Favorite AEW Dynamite Moment  
> Adam & Kenny win the Tag Team Titles.
> 
> Adam spent so long obsessed with an angel who loved the stars themselves, he's not sure what to do when the angel looks directly at him and not through him, years later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day Three: Favorite AEW Dynamite Moment
> 
> all ryan knows is be obsessed with adam and kennys relationship and history  
> hjhrsfdjs anyway this isnt properly beta'd and not my best work for the challenge but i still had fun trying to keep within 1k and still squeeze in all the Good Shit(tm)
> 
> enjoy!

Kenny looks like a ghost these days.

Adam had been all kinds of starry-eyed back then, when the world revolved around the Club, around the spotlights and dark crowds and gold. It was straightforward when the world itself revolved around Kenny.

Kenny never revolved around Adam as he had him, and at the time, it was devastating. It was motivation. It was Kenny’s desperation for someone else, for others, outright ignoring him. Jay White had been just another face in the background, blurred, a stand-in.

Disrespect, part of him argues. Hurt, another debates. When it’s three men in a ring, two allies, and an enemy, what does it say when one is driven to the brink and picks his enemy?

Adam’s world crumbles in on itself. 

His heart collapses, convulses, hurts like the strongest case of heartburn even imaginable, and he breathes. Hot, burning breaths, gasping, wheezing. 

He’s in shock, at the moment. He gags in his hotel room alone, choking up whatever’s left in his system he didn’t spit up in the trainer’s room. If he was poetic about it, he'd say it was like magma, all the simmering anger and pure, unfiltered emotions pouring out of him, but it's not. It's acidic bile, his body rejecting itself and everything given. He sits in bed afterward, slouched over, picking at his fingernails.

What did I do wrong? _Pick_ . Does he hate me? _Pick_ . Why did he do that? _Pick_ . Why did I do that? _Pick—_ driving pain that laces up his finger. A small swell of blood. He goes to bed late into the morning and doesn’t answer the phones when they ring.

He puts his cell on silent, and when he gets tired of the flashing of the screen, he turns it off. He lets the hotel's phone ring and ring and ring until his neighbor hits the wall. He picks it up, and without raising it to his ear, presses the end call button in the corded phone's tray and sets it down on the table next to it.

Adam moves on. There are bigger fish to fry, the world is changing once again, and if he doesn’t get up like he always has, he won’t get up again. These are facts he lives by. Eventually, he learns to breathe again.

Kenny isn’t his world anymore. Kenny can’t be Adam’s world if Ibushi is Kenny’s.

The Elite implodes.

The victors limp out, head held high. The vanquished survive to drag themselves out of the fires left behind.

Cody seethes and seethes, his malice and animosity swallowing him whole as he uses raw rage and perseverance to build an empire on the ashen ground their kingdom burnt to.

Adam lets his sorrows eat his insides, infectious, all-consuming, muffling the world around him.

And isn’t that sad? Adam is apathetic, chases his vices until they go numb, too. Eventually, drinking becomes the norm. The burn going down. The burn coming up. The pain it forces on him is well enough, because at least there’s still pain to be had.

Kenny looks just as tired. Good, he thinks lethargically as cruel, agonizing glee curls in his chest. Nobody got out of this okay. Nobody escaped the implosion whole.

Kenny moves from room to room, person to person, bags under his eyes carrying all the luggage Adam is sure would destroy a lesser man. His attention is slow, molasses, delayed.

There is no Ibushi. There are no Bucks. It’s… just Kenny.

There is no title. There is no Hangman. It’s just… Adam.

Somehow, they end up in a ring together.

Somehow, they win.

Somehow, Adam wraps his arms around Kenny, and somehow, Kenny wraps his arms back around him, too.

They tag, pressing weathered hands together in brief flashing touches. Sparks fly as Adam watches Kenny explode into life, gunpowder lighting up the air as he flies above him, into the ring. 

They tag, a fleeting brush of contact, exhilarating, a shift of the universe in the way his fingers brush Kenny’s wrist wraps as they orbit, passing. He forces the ropes to move for him, weaponizes his suffering into bare hands and joint pads, lost to the blur that swallows the world outside the apron.

The sea is unsteady. The air is clear and clean, salty, and thick as he drags in more air into the burning, convulsing lungs that shake in his chest. His muscles burn, his legs tremble, blood rushing in his ears. 

Kenny clings to the bottom rope, squinted eyes gleaming back at him. Kaz stumbles to his feet, and for a moment, Adam glances between them. He can feel himself freeze. He drags in a deep breath.

Kenny’s look was familiar. Too tired to stand, too exhausted to move, struggling against the lights to watch him. Powerless and left to his partner’s will. Still, laying there, there is no wary tension in him. Only anticipation.

Waiting for judgment.

(Kenny… I’ll do this for us. I’ll give us everything I have.)

_Now!_

_Nownownow_ – 

_MOVE!_

Adam heeds his instinct and throws himself into his buckshot lariat, collapsing on top of Kaz for the pin and-

He’s on his back, heaving, gasping. Someone’s standing over him. Something is shoved into his hands, they leave towards Kenny.

He rolls over slowly, gets onto his knees and forearms. The title is cool and sleek under his hands.

The title. He can hear Kenny, far away, but he doesn’t turn. He stares down at the title presses his face to it, memorizes every bump and groove.

Kenny did that for him. He did it for himself, too, but he also did it for Adam. They did it for each other just as much as they did it for themselves.

Adam rises and screams his victory. Finally. Finally.

* * *

(One day, they’ll stand and sit on opposite sides of a bar and they’ll clink their glasses together, drinks spilling into each other.

Not quite mixing, not quite seamless, but a duet none the less.)


	4. between the woods and frozen lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Four: Favorite NJPW/ROH/Indie Moment  
> G1 CLIMAX 28 "Be A Survivor" Entrant Video
> 
> One lonely night, Hangman takes a quick jog to clear his mind before making a monumental decision that may change his fate for better or worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day Four: Favorite NJPW/ROH/Indie Moment
> 
> okay, i know its not really a MOMENT but this video. has stuck with me thru everything hangman has done. the cinematography of it. the short yet summarizing statements that outline everything you need to know about him if you dont know him, and everything unspoken between the lines if you DO, UGH its so good i love it
> 
> esp bc my favorite match of his may or may not surprise yall tomorrow >:)c
> 
> enjoy!!

His heart is heavy and weighted, beating a furious tempo. His eyelashes cling with moisture and his eyelids feel heavy when he finally sits up from his crouch, opening his eyes. It’s still dark. The golden streetlights are a little less radiant, now. He still hasn’t found a solution to his problem.

He knows his answer. So why can’t he let himself stop?

Change is scary, his mind supplies as he turns his face up to the sky, watching the moon peek between the heavy clouds that muffle the night’s gleam.

Change  _ is _ scary, he admits hesitantly, it’s one of his greater weaknesses. Yet, he knows that isn’t all. Of course not. This decision could change everything. Or nothing at all, it was still up in the air.

He’d never really been a singles wrestler. Maybe before the Club, before the Decade, but it had been so long since he’d really wrestled on his own, without aid or a partner, in a tourney of all things. And it was no simple tourney, anyway.

What would Cody say? What would the Bucks say? What would Kenny think?

He picks himself up off the pavement and stretches his legs, his arms, rolls his neck and shoulders.

Things could never be so simple. He was always a worrier, after all. Things change, things stay the same. He can’t stop the bittersweet laugh that bubbles up lowly, yet, by the time it gets to his lips it peters out into something heavy, tired, small. Just a short, blunt sigh of air.

Man. He was so screwed. How had he managed to achieve so much freedom and yet back himself up into a corner so thoroughly? Still, he considers it.

The opportunity this granted him was invaluable. He’d never get another chance like this, at least, not for another year. Adam didn’t think he’d have the patience to wait a whole ‘nother year for something like this. Who knew what would happen between then and now? Especially with the Club, it was every day with them. Adam made it a habit not to make any long term plans with how day-to-day the Elite was.

He considers the street before him as he picks a direction and begins to walk. 

If he didn’t take part, what would he do instead? Sit around in the Club’s backseat, alone? Wasting away? The shadows he sits in now are comfortable, the idea of leaving is as unappealing as it is desirable. He wouldn’t ever have to really  _ work  _ or  _ push _ himself.

And he wants to. He wants to drive it to the goddamn edge, all the good and bad. He wants to  _ feel  _ it. These shadows he’s bound to, they are as dark as the lights that cast them. Deep, heavy, an all-consuming light eater of a black hole. No wonder none of the others look back, they’d see the void they cast and create in the spaces they leave behind.

Planetary giants, too big, too much. And Adam is a pitiful moon, trapped between the nothingness and being swallowed whole by the beings that swing him mercilessly in their orbit.

His stride lengthens.

He wants out. He wants to leave, even if his Hell is padded and luxurious, it’s not what he wants. He can’t sit when commanded anymore, not after his brush with legacy and limelight. It’s a vice he’s addicted to, like every wrestler who’s come before him and will come after him.

He takes up a brisk jog.

He won’t let the shadows eat him whole. He refuses to let it end like this. He won’t let himself waste away like this. Nobody feels him when he passes in the halls, a ghost. Nobody pays him any mind. He’d rather fear than nothing at all.

He breaks into a sprint, golden streetlights coming and going.

He wouldn’t lay down this time. Nobody, not even his friends, would hold him back now. He won’t stand back and wait for his turn. He’ll demand it, and if it isn’t given, he’ll take it. He doesn’t have time for waiting around. He doesn’t have the affordance to wait for fate to choose, to hope it picks him and not someone else. He can’t wait for opportunities that aren’t guaranteed. He doesn’t have that luxury anymore.

He’ll carve his own path. He’ll light his own fire. To hell with everyone else. He’ll do it his way or not at all.

* * *

“Do you want to do this?”

Hangman plucks the pen from the table as he lets the document’s pages flutter back into place. He knows its all his nerves and frantic static energy that makes the pages caress his fingers, makes his body shake and rattle with adrenaline and anxiety, and yet, he can’t find it within himself to still.

For a moment, doubt wreathes him and he willingly lets it. Did he really want to do this?

He knew his answer before he walked in. Hell, he’s known his answer since he’d first heard of the event.

His signature is sharp despite the big loops that delicately knot the letters together. He nearly doesn’t want the feeling to end, and ties his name off with an extra curl on the end of Page.

A smile. He stands with them, takes their hand in his own and shakes it once more.

“Thank you so much, again,” he adds, smiling brightly, “you won’t regret givin’ me this opportunity, sir. Honest.”

“Of course! We expect great things, Mr. Page. We’ll see you soon, yes?”

Adam can’t stop his rapid nodding, heart racing. “Yessir!” He gets to his feet quickly, collecting his bag off the floor and throwing his jacket over a shoulder when his hands shake too much to get them in the jacket. He gives one more exchanging of pleasantries, a bright smile, and steps out.

“Oh! And, Mr. Page?”

He quickly caught the closing door, backpedaling in surprise. He peers back in. “Sir?”

“Welcome to the G1.”

Adam smiles.


End file.
